Page 17 of Bourbon and Secrets

I glance down the length of her, salivating as I watch her hips and thick thighs sway. And how her waist dips in like an hourglass. It's impossible to look at anything or anyone else as she moves through the crowd, her hips ticking back and forth in time with the drumbeat. When I finally swallow, I look around to see the entire room focused on every detail of her. She’s an entirely new kind of focal point. The kind that turns heads and bodies on. There isn’t a single person paying attention to anything or anyone else other than her, including me.

Faye stands in front of where Ace and his party sit. The three men casually watch on, each of them with a glass of bourbon in one hand. Their eyes glide down the length of her body, and I’m sure a roster of thoughts about her run through their minds. Plenty are running through mine.

She perches herself on the table in front of them, eyes locked on one of the assholes my brother spoke of earlier, as she raisesone gloved arm above her head. Taking her time, she drags the satin glove down to her elbow, and then, with one finger in her mouth, uses her teeth to pull it off the rest of the way.

“What do you say, boys?” Faye says to the band, loud enough for the audience to hear, cutting into the sultry song. “Are we feeling good?” Some hoots and whistles echo off the walls and I’m smiling like a goddamn idiot. She smiles in that sexy way that she’s perfected. Every facial expression and movement are for a purpose.

Her hands meet her hips, chest out, and she pulls some string on the already barely-there dress, removing the outer layer of sheer pink. She’s left in a pink satin bra and shorts set. Beneath the reflection of the chandeliers and spotlight, her skin shimmers. Two rows of crystals hug her neck, and as if they are droplets of water, they splash down from her collarbone, loosely dripping down to her chest, framing each mouth-watering breast.

A loud whistle from the bar has me clearing my throat and blinking. I feel like I’ve just been slapped across the face. I should leave. I should go home and deal with these feelings in the morning. But I don’t move from my spot. I can’t.

I track her movements across the room. Faye smiles and takes a seat on one of the men Ace was rubbing elbows with. Some asshole who owned auction houses who had been on a private tour of the distillery earlier today. His meaty hand rests on her lower back, fingers splayed lower than what I would consider a respectable way to touch a stranger.

She leans closer and whispers something to him. Smiling, her neck cranes away from him as her head dips back, leaving her sprawled across his lap. But it’s when her head is tipped fully back that she locks eyes with me. It’s brief, but her body tenses, and the carefree, flirtatious expression falls as she keeps her attention on me for a few beats more.

“You’re not supposed to be here, and you know it,” I mumble to myself. I can’t figure out what pisses me off more: the fact that she’s back in my town or that I can’t stop watching her. My dick twitches as she drags her hands up the center of her body, and then, with the change in tempo, she stands up and moves along the open space between chairs and the stage. She’s teasing the entire room, and I’d put money on the fact that not a single seat in the house is dry or soft.

Crossing my arms over my chest, my eyes roam down her body once more. Her shoulders thrust back, accentuating the shape of her full tits that strain to escape the pink satin propping them so perfectly. My thumb finds its way to my mouth, and I drag it across my lips, wondering what hers would feel like—urgent, plush, an appetizer. The smooth skin creased between her bottoms and where the curve of her ass ends as she turns looks like the perfect place to drag fingers and graze teeth.

What the fuck am I thinking?

The singer kicks into the chorus again and the room echoes with more whistles as Faye unbuckles her right garter belt first, and then covers her mouth as if to say,Oops!When she flicks the other side open, her eyes meet mine with a smirk this time. That’s when she starts moving toward me.Don’t you fucking dare.

I hear Brady, the bouncer next to me, say, “Holy shit, she’s coming this way—” He nudges my chest with the back of his hand.

Walking right up to me, she winks—she fucking winks. And then her attention veers to Brady. The fucking guy who looks like a linebacker and is a good six inches shorter than me. He swallows and stares at Faye.Jesus, she’s rendered him stupid.

“Hi, handsome,” she says in a sweet, projected voice, her Kentucky twang loud and proud. “Would you mind helping me?”

But I don’t let him answer. “Is there a zipper, or will I need a knife?” I interject. My voice is deep and loud enough so that I know she hears me.

Her eyes shift and anchor to mine. The exchange between us is simple.He’s not going to fucking touch you, so you better ask me for that favor.

She looks over her shoulder at the crowd. The spotlights throughout the room highlight various tables, making it just bright enough for everyone to see who she’s planning to play with.Me. With a smile dancing along her lips, she turns back and slides her hand along my forearm and clasps her fingers around mine, guiding me back toward the bar where a vacant stool waits. When we get there, she presses herself close, runs her fingers down the center of my shirt, and then gives me a little shove onto the stool and just as the trumpet tips up in a high note. The crowd isn’t as loud, but the move encourages a few whistles and hoots. Stepping back, she raises her leg slowly, the ball of her heeled foot hitting right above my belt. I don’t move my hands when she leans forward, her foot pushing into me as she asks, “A little help, Foxx.”

It’s impossible to ignore where we are, but my body buzzes with the anticipation of touching her. The jazz band plays just the instrumental interlude as I do. Her heels don’t have a buckle. The feathery pouf that rests along the top of her shoe is a nice touch—she’s a goddamn pin-up girl from head to toe. I slip the back off first and then the front, tossing it to the side. I hear a few people shout out my name and Hadley or Laney—one of the two—whistles again from behind the bar.

Starting from her ankle, I glide my fingers and the palms of both hands up her calf and to her knee, where the ninety-degree angle forces my fingers to her thigh. I let my palms run underneath instead of the sides of her legs, slowly pulling at the light pink fishnet stockings. Rolling them down her leg,my fingers brush along her smooth skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Touching her like this shouldn’t feel so good. And people watching should make me think twice, but it doesn’t.

She switches legs and signals for me to do the other. As I repeat the same movement, I can’t help but look at her face this time, focusing on the plump bottom lip painted in the same color pink as the netting I’m gliding down her leg. When I move my attention upwards, having no problem looking someone in the eye, she swallows, and the playful hint on her lips struggles to stay in place. My heart races as my fingers linger against her skin. And my breath catches as I catalog the beauty mark on her upper cheek, the way her throat works to swallow, and how her chest expands as she watches me.

The second my fingers pull away, the trance between the two of us is broken, and she snaps back into character. Now even shorter without her heels, eyes linger for an extra beat on me, and then flick back toward the small circular stage. She drapes the stockings around her neck, each leg resting against her tits. The trumpet, bass, and singer end the song on a long drag of the words “feeling good” as she tosses the satin bra to the side, revealing only the valley of skin between her tits. The fishnet stockings hang strategically over her as she struts away, the lights cutting out, leaving behind the echo of applause. I rub my thumb along the pads of my fingers. I feel like I’ve just been fucked. And the satisfaction isn’t lingering.

It's a very distinct feeling, the same one I experienced the night I stumbled into her on the edge of a dark cornfield. Only now, she’s exchanged dirt and blood for satin and fishnets. Time hasn’t changed a fucking thing—she’s still dangerous.

It was easy to figure out what she had been doing in that field, especially after discovering who had been considered missing shortly after, and why she would need an alibi.Whatever her angle is for being back now, I’m going to figure it out. But not tonight.

“Lincoln.” Ace’s deep voice cuts in as he waves me over. I clear my throat, my head still reeling over a woman.

I smile as I walk past the bar, and Hadley asks, “What’d you think about the show?”

Giving her an unimpressed glance, I focus back on my brother. Anything that would pull my focus away from who I just watched peel off her clothes so publicly, so seductively, is what I need right now.Goddamnit.

“I’d like to introduce you to Brock Blackstone,” Ace says as I step closer.

I extend my hand to shake his as I recall the name and how his business supports ours.

“Yes, that’s right. Blackstone Auctions. I’ve heard some remarkable things are auctioned and sold through your business.”

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